Ice Breaker
by WildMeiLing
Summary: Clarisse and Joseph and an idea about how their professional relationship began to evolve into friendship.


_Just a get-to-know-you session between two of my favorite people. (And yes, I know they're pretend, but that won't stop me from loving them.) Thank you for reading. Feel free to tell me what you think._

 _PS They do not belong to me. I am writing this because it's fun, and Genovia is my happy place. (That should be a bumper sticker!)_

* * *

In the six months he had been employed by the palace, Joe had not seen any evidence to support Clarisse Renaldi's reputation as an Ice Queen. Until tonight, anyway.

He had been training as one of her guards, and was recently appointed her primary personal bodyguard. He had watched her kiss babies, embrace old people, honor humble requests from Genovians who approached her in the throne room, and fight for renovations to the decrepit building that housed the orphanage in downtown Pyrus. From his intimate vantage point, he had seen her with Pierre and Philippe, who were sons first and princes second. She was a wonderful mother, and her boys, who had no doubt as to her feelings, basked in her unconditional love for them.

True, she was not effusive with her emotions. When she accompanied King Rupert in public, she appeared serene and cool. In private, although theirs was not an overly affectionate relationship by any stretch of the imagination, she seemed pleasant and at ease, comfortable in their partnership.

So what if she was reserved? Being protective of her as he was, Joe bristled at the hasty assumption that her demeanor indicated an absence of feeling. Certainly, she was a strong and opinionated woman, capable of taking a passionate stand when the occasion arose, but for the most part, she moved about quietly and steadily, winning hearts and minds with grace and diplomacy and empathy.

But tonight was different. Before they had arrived at the home of Lord and Lady Bellerose, Joe detected tension between Clarisse and Rupert. She was more than simply quiet; she was subdued, lost in thought, the look in her eyes clearly showing she was somewhere else. Or wanted to be. Rupert fidgeted a little, which was a great deal more than Joe had ever seen him do, and he seemed to be unusually attentive to Clarisse.

Joe had been intrigued at the prospect of seeing Lady Bellerose. He heard she had been a great friend of the Queen at one time until Clarisse had suddenly deemed Lady Bellerose _persona non grata_. No one - including Lady Bellerose, it was rumored - knew the reason for her sudden falling out of royal favor. It was eventually blamed on the Queen's chilly disposition. Joe wondered what sort of person she would be, both as someone who had once enjoyed a solid friendship with the slightly enigmatic Clarisse, and as someone capable of earning her disapproval.

Dinner, which included several other aristocratic couples, happened quickly after the arrival of the King and Queen, and was followed by coffee (a euphemism, Joe had learned early on, as everyone almost always drank liquor) in the drawing room. The entire evening had been agreeable enough. There was cheerful chatter at the table, where everyone had been mixed in together; and there were amusing anecdotes in the drawing room afterward, where the group had naturally segregated into men and women. Throughout all of it, Joe noticed the strained interaction among Clarisse and Rupert and their host and hostess. Clarisse was courteous, but to Joe's surprise, undeniably cool toward Lady Bellerose, and increasingly taciturn among everyone else.

Maybe it was the setting that affected her. He stood against one mauve wall of the lavish room, the décor so sweet and flowery it was almost sickening. Overwhelming, like too many spritzes of a strong floral perfume. Or a cake too goopy with sugary icing. It was starting to get to him. He tried to distract himself from the saccharine surroundings infused with syrupy conversation, and sought his charge's eye.

Clarisse knew her attitude was doing nothing to dispel the myth of her frigid persona, but she didn't care. If she appeared placid and a bit frosty this evening, she considered it an accomplishment. It meant that none of her companions, husband included, knew what torture this evening was for her. She allowed her eyes to wander around the room. Dear Lord, it was like a gilded version of the royal rose garden had been transplanted into this relatively small room, and then exploded. The place was practically dripping with petals and saturated with rosy colors. Ironically, no thorns. Clarisse suppressed a tiny smile. Oh well, she was more than willing to be the thorn among the roses this evening.

What was wrong with Joseph? She had been staring at him without realizing it, lost in her own bitter musings, and finally realized his face was twitching. No, not twitching. He was very deliberately raising his eyebrows and inclining his head forward and to the side, resulting in its resting at an awkward angle. She frowned and he repeated the pattern. Was he trying to tell her something? Yes, that must be it. She arched her eyebrows in question, and he did it again. Her eyes narrowed, then flashed back toward her companions and over to her husband. Everyone else seemed unaware, so she tried once more to decipher his facial code. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Again, his eyebrows shot up and his head dipped down.

It was no use. She had no earthly idea what he wasn't talking about.

Not noticing or caring that she was interrupting one of the other ladies mid-sentence, Clarisse stood up. "If you will excuse me, I need some air." She moved elegantly around the ornately carved furniture, not bothering to wait for their acquiescing murmurs. She nodded to Joe as she floated past him. It was a simple gesture, easy to understand, not like that convoluted message he had unsuccessfully conveyed to her. He followed and smoothly fell into step behind her as she pushed open one of the French doors leading onto the terrace.

It was summer, and though the hour was late, the light had not fully faded. The air was warm, and a balmy breeze flickered past them. Joe watched how the lazy air currents and the slowing gait of his employer caused the hem of her evening gown, layers of soft silk, to sway around her ankles. He stopped just outside the door. She kept moving across the terracotta tiles until she reached the low wall of the terrace. Then she spun around fluidly to face him.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" she said in a quiet voice.

"Yes. You looked uncomfortable, or sad maybe. I wasn't sure which. I wondered if you were feeling alright."

She stared at him, letting his words sink in. "So, in the future, when I see you do this -" She did a dramatic impersonation of him. "- I will know you mean, 'Are you well?'"

He laughed at her eyebrow-wiggling and exaggerated head-nodding. "If that is what I was doing, then yes, I mean to ask if you are well."

"Alright, just so we're clear on the matter." She allowed herself a small smile - the first real one all evening - and he felt a strange satisfaction in knowing he was the reason for it.

"So?" he prompted.

She looked at him blankly. "So what?" she finally responded.

"Are you well?" he asked, concerned that she had lost the thread of the conversation so quickly.

"Oh." She seemed about to elaborate, then her shoulders hunched as she brought her arm across her stomach and turned away slightly. He was worried he had overstepped his boundaries, but then reminded himself it was, in fact, his job to see she was safe and well. She turned back toward him, her face not quite settled back into its usual regal façade. "Joseph, are your parents still alive?"

He took in the abrupt change in subject with the defensive positioning of her arm and body, and decided she was protecting herself from something. Whatever it was, if it was in his power to help keep it from her, he would. "Last I checked, yes."

She gave him a slightly withering look, and he took comfort in knowing she was distracted from what haunted her. "Where is it you're from in Spain?"

"Small town on the coast, no place you would have heard of."

A ripple of displeasure crossed her face, as though he might have offended her, and he suddenly realized she must have thought he assumed her to be condescending. "I only meant, it's very small and easily overlooked by…well, pretty much everyone." He smiled affably. Her expression softened, but she still must have doubted him. "Puerto del Sol."

She nodded once, then turned her head again, as if to avoid his eyes. "You're right," she conceded. "I'd never heard of it." Another small smile.

"Told you," he teased gently.

"Do your parents still live there?"

"They do."

"Have you any siblings?"

"Three sisters."

"Really?" She turned fully toward him and leaned back, her hands by her sides and resting on the wall for support. She studied him, as though these facts were puzzle pieces she wanted to fit together with the little bit she knew of him. "Older? Younger?"

"Two older, one younger."

"Do they still live in Puerto del Sol?"

"The oldest one does. One lives in America, the other in London."

Her ankles crossed as her relaxed stance deepened. "Are they married?"

"They are."

"Children?"

"My oldest sister has two boys and one girl. The next one has two boys and two girls."

"And the youngest?"

"We don't talk much about her," he said as he walked over to stand next to her by the wall.

She couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "What did she do?"

He leaned his forearms on the wall and surveyed the grounds. Clarisse turned her head toward him, waiting patiently.

"Actually, we talk about her a lot. Mostly behind her back." He looked over at Clarisse and grinned.

"That doesn't seem very nice."

"We don't say anything to each other that we aren't willing to say to her. We just listen better to each other than she does to us," he clarified, rolling his eyes.

"I think I see. Well, maybe not. I don't know. I don't have any brothers or sisters."

He continued his scanning of the estate. The grounds were beautiful, but too fussy and manipulated. The palace gardens had a natural flow to them, an effortless perfection. "She married a man she had dated for ten years."

"Ten years? Seems like a rather long courtship."

"It certainly felt long. One of those tumultuous relationships, with lots of drama. It was very I-love-you/I-hate-you. I-can't-live-without-you/I-never-want-to-see-you-again. So of course, they got married."

"I don't suppose that helped matters much."

"No. Now they have a son, and she brings him back to Spain for visits, and ends up proclaiming at least twice during each trip that she has half a mind to stay there with the child."

"But she always goes back?"

"She always goes back. Well, except one year." His eyes squinted as if he were in pain. "Long story."

"We'll leave that one alone then."

"For now, anyway. Maybe some evening when you have an hour or six to spare."

She smiled for the third time, and almost laughed. He felt a pleasant flutter in his abdomen.

"My, eight nieces and nephews. I'll bet you're the favorite uncle."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Depends who you ask. The kids will tell you I am. Their parents think I am the annoying bachelor brother who comes in with obnoxiously noisy toys and too much chocolate."

A real laugh this time, and he felt an inexplicable swell of pride.

"What about you though? You're not married."

"I am not," he said simply.

"Were you ever?"

"No."

"Did you consider it?"

He inhaled sharply, and before he could formulate a reply to tactfully end the line of questioning, he was surprised to hear the answer pop out of his mouth. "Once."

Clarisse was a perceptive woman. It was unlikely she hadn't noticed she was trespassing on private emotional property. Yet, sensing she was being granted access few others had gained, she forged ahead. "Was it a long time ago?"

"I was nineteen and in college."

"I don't remember a college degree listed on your resume."

"No," he said almost sheepishly. "I didn't finish."

"Because of the girl?"

"Because of the girl. Her name was Camila."

"Uh-oh."

"What?"

"The way you sighed when you said her name. She was beautiful?"

"Very."

"But… Let me guess. High maintenance?"

"I admit, she was. My parents thought so, too, but I resented their warnings."

"What use does one have for the voice of reason when it comes to matters of the heart?"

"Exactly. My sisters were more blunt than my parents, and told me I was an idiot."

"Even your youngest sister?"

"She, as well."

"Hmm…"

"I know, I know. Even back then, she was still a teenager, but we all could see she had the makings of a great and lovable flake. You would think her warnings more than anyone else's would send up red flags, but -"

"They didn't."

"Nope."

"Did you love her very much then?"

"I did. I gave her all I had. You know how they say, when you're young, there's so much room for change and growth, and two people might end up incompatible. I suppose I am not the same person I was then, but," he shrugged his shoulders, watching as shadows descended across the property, "I don't know. It was still for the best, even though I don't think I was too young to love her."

Clarisse tilted her head back and searched the sky for emerging stars. "I was eighteen when I married." She smiled wistfully at the heavens. "We're still together."

He watched her profile. The fact that she had not mentioned love was not lost on him.

She sighed softly, then looked back at him. "So it doesn't sound as though you drifted apart. What happened?" she asked, uncharacteristically prying.

"I came home from a night class, and found her in bed with my roommate."

"No!"

"Yes. My roommate, by the way, was my best friend. Did I mention that?"

"You didn't," Clarisse said sympathetically.

"Also, I had just that afternoon taken all the money I had saved up from two summers' of work and a diet bordering on malnutrition, and bought a small diamond ring."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. It was in my pocket. Funny, as I walked home that evening, up the stairs and down the hall, I felt lighter than air. In one moment, I was completely crushed."

"I am sorry."

"So was I. You can guess at all the I-told-you-sos. Unspoken ones from my parents. Loud, irritating ones from my sisters." He stood up, straightening his posture and his arms as he reached out to grip the wall in front of him. "Almost twenty years later, and it still stings. Not like it did, but it hurts. I know my family loved me - loves me - but just once, one time amid all the rebukes and pity, it would have been nice to hear a word of sympathy. They didn't know what I was feeling. They had no idea what it was like to walk in there… The girl I loved and my best friend! Just once, to have had someone try to understand what it was like…"

So caught up was he in the unexpected intensity of his recollection, he almost jumped at the feel of Clarisse's hand over his. He looked at her and saw she had turned to face the wall, and was watching him with an empathy that could not come from merely imagining oneself in another's shoes.

"I know what it was like for you," she said softly.

"You do?"

He looked down at her hand covering his, a gesture of comfort. But more than that, a token of solidarity. All the clues started falling into place: her detachment on the way over, her husband's concern. The tension at the dinner party. The awkward interaction between the hostess and her king, not because of a broken friendship with his wife, but because of a connection between Lady Bellerose and King Rupert himself, an illicit familiarity they danced around stiffly, hoping to conceal by remaining distant.

And everyone blamed Clarisse. The Ice Queen.

"I am sorry," he said, repeating her sentiment back to her as he placed his other hand over hers. She seemed as startled as he had been to feel her hand being taken up. He wondered to whom she turned for comfort.

She sought his eyes again. "It's not as though I didn't know. But seeing it…" She was quiet a moment, obviously working up the nerve to continue. Then her lovely mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "I went out for a walk one evening to check on my roses." As he waited for her to continue, the meaning of her words slowly sank in. She knew he understood when his eyes widened. "My _rose garden_ , Joseph. It took me three weeks to go back out, and only then, with the head gardener and detailed sketches for a complete overhaul."

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to quell the anger rising up inside him. He never did have warm-fuzzies for the King, and now… Seriously? The rose garden? His wife's one sacred space?

His eyes opened, and she managed a sincere smile for him. He knew she found the strength to do it - to smile, to open up, to confide - from him. Somehow, he returned her smile with a real one of his own, and all the things left unsaid passed between them, easily deciphered through the simple act.

After a long moment, it was over. They both sensed it was time to retreat to their own physical space, and drew back their hands.

Clarisse broke the silence. "Then you went into the military?"

"I did."

"A change of scenery, so to speak." She sighed and pushed away from the wall. "I suppose I should be getting back inside." She gazed at the sky, now darker, and at the stars, brighter and more numerous - gauging the time. "What did you do with the ring?" she asked curiously.

"I still have it, believe it or not."

"I don't believe it."

"I think I kept it more because of everything I had put into it. Time, emotion, lots of money, at least, for a nineteen-year old student."

"Is it somewhere you can come across it?"

"I do every so often, when I'm delving deeply to search for a match to a lone sock."

Clarisse glanced over her bodyguard's attire. "I would have assumed all your socks are black," she posited lightly.

"They're different styles."

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose they would be."

"Just because they're all one color, doesn't mean they automatically match."

She stifled a giggle.

"Something about that amuses you?"

"I confess, it does," she responded contritely. But she still laughed again. "And I thank you for that."

Joe looked through the windows at the deceptively innocuous tableau of nobles, and his heart went out to her. "You win."

"How's that?"

"I come across my reminder when I'm sifting through my sock drawer, and I can shove it back into the corner from whence it came. I don't have to eat dinner with it."

She chuckled, and he knew he had gotten away with a remark few others would have dared to even make. "True." She hesitated, then added, "You can also toss your reminder, should you choose to let go of it."

"Also true. And maybe I will. I think it might be time."

"Joseph, I'm sure you've discovered there are very few things that truly remain secret in this…part of society, but this one really is. What I told you, I mean. Only a handful of people know for sure."

"Your secret is safe with me, Your Majesty."

"I knew somehow I could trust you."

"With your life, if necessary."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she replied with feeling.

He held the door open for her, and they parted ways to resume their previous places in the drawing room.

But not completely.

 _The End_


End file.
